Gluttons

If blind had a sound 

And what deafness could look like  

This is how we complete each other 

One a dialectically opposed remedy to the other’s 

Chronic condition of lack

Both too loud about being something at all

To see all that we weren’t 

Our touch was unrequited in unison

Zigzagged

Precisionless as a hold should never be

Your presence itchy in all the unreachable spots

A satisfactory buzzing then irritable as a rule

A petulant need to be distorted 

Though my bed still reeks of your glitterlaced cigarettes

The nights we signalsmoked ourselves into oblivion

The creaturecomforts of a monoxide embrace

All those muted metallicdrip mornings

Mixed with the stench of feraldisconnecting as a sport 

We were a fission of nuclear proportions

The wreckage bleached down to whitenoise

Justjanitors operating a room so sterile it turned pungent

The alluringaroma of the damned

And when I gulp

.

.

.

.

.

I taste the screech of cannibalism 

An insatiably hollow regret

The frequency at which we chewed each other up 

And called it love 

You are the lump in my throat

You are the belly of my beast

A steaming chokehold in the windowsill 

The salivating thought of releasing the pregnant tension in my neck 

By ripping apart my wired jaw 

And swallowing you whole forever

That’s how I’ll remember us

Gluttons for the gouge 

Bled dry till all that remained was the monochromatic muck

Who was wrong and who was wronger

Our shrivelled box

Glitching, begging

Pixelated at best